Not long after James pulled Sasha out of the sky, Maine and his crew rolled into Corpo Plaza in their ride, arriving just in time to see the aftermath.
Inside the back seat, James worked with a level of calm that felt almost unreal. He was already cutting into Sasha's wound, carefully removing bullets and stitching torn flesh back together. It should've been terrifying—blood, shaking hands, the smell of iron—but James didn't hesitate.
Even though this was his first time doing it in real life, he'd experienced the procedure many times through braindances. With his abnormal learning speed, he copied the techniques almost perfectly, like he was replaying a memory instead of doing surgery in the back of a moving car.
Sasha didn't even need sedatives.
Her pain editor handled the worst of it, keeping her conscious enough to breathe steadily… and even comfort Rebecca, who hovered nearby with clenched fists and wet eyes, trying hard not to fall apart.
Up front, Maine drove with a grim expression.
Not because he was angry about Sasha's job going sideways—
but because he'd almost lost a teammate.
"I told you," Maine muttered, voice thick with lingering fear, "we needed another netrunner for support. If James wasn't there, you'd have hit the pavement like a stain."
"From that height," Sasha said softly, guilt threading into her voice, "it wouldn't have been that bad…"
Maine made a sound like he was about to explode.
Sasha had always trusted her own skills. She'd been the one who refused extra backup. If she'd died tonight, Maine would've blamed himself for years. That was the sick part of Night City—losing people was normal, but you still never got used to it.
Sasha's failure wasn't from incompetence.
It was because she'd found something she didn't plan on finding—something she couldn't share. A scar buried so deep she'd rather bleed again than speak it out loud.
James finished the last stitch, then reached out and gently pressed Sasha's lips closed like he was shutting a noisy drawer.
"Stop talking," he told her bluntly. "Take your scolding quietly."
Sasha blinked—then obeyed.
James leaned back for a second, examined his work, and then covered her with his coat to trap whatever warmth was left in her body.
Sasha didn't speak anymore. She simply watched James with an intensity that felt almost weightless… like she was memorizing him.
Maine opened his mouth to keep ranting, but Dorio shot him a warning glare from the passenger seat.
Maine swallowed the rest of his anger and grunted like a bulldog forced to behave.
James glanced out the window, checking the landmarks and street layout.
"Pull over at the next intersection," he said. "I'm heading back."
Maine frowned. "This late? Stay at my place. I haven't even thanked you properly."
James shook his head. "No. I've got a girl waiting."
Lucy.
James could already picture her. Curled on the sofa, TV playing but barely watched. Eyes fixed on the door. Acting casual in messages, but counting minutes like they were bullets.
Sasha's gaze flickered for a tiny moment—so small most people wouldn't notice.
Then it settled back to calm.
A girl at home… so what?
Sasha didn't look bothered. Not even a little.
Maine caught the shift in the rearview mirror. He didn't comment. Young people had their own wars to fight.
The car pulled to the roadside.
James pushed the door open—then felt a tug on his coat.
He looked down.
Sasha's pale hand was still gripping him, like her body hadn't accepted that he was leaving yet. She froze when she realized.
Sasha quickly pulled her hand back, half her face hidden in the coat, eyes bright with a shy flash that didn't match the blood still drying on her skin.
"Rest well, Miss Cat," James said quietly.
"Mm," Sasha replied.
As the car rolled away, Rebecca leaned out the window, waving like a kid who didn't know how to say things normally.
"THANK YOU, PANCAKE VENDOR!"
James raised a finger and pointed hard at her, pure frustration in his eyes.
"You…"
He could swear she did it on purpose.
---
Night City's Late-Shift Lifeline
The monorail was still running, packed tighter than daylight hours.
Corporate workers filled the seats—low-level employees coming off overtime shifts, faces pale and dead-eyed. People who slept four hours if they were lucky, running on stimulants and cheap energy drinks.
Rumor said they paid for the stimulants themselves.
In Night City, even your exhaustion came with a bill.
Among all megacorps, only Kang Tao had a reputation for being slightly more "humane," even giving employees Trauma Team Gold coverage.
Even then, people still died at their desks every year.
But in a city like this, a job was a luxury. Nobody complained if they could still afford food.
Here, the city's most honest rule lived in every hallway:
If you won't do it, someone else will.
And if you had to risk your life anyway, at least a corporate paycheck bought slightly better odds.
James got off near Corpo Plaza.
The Biotechnica tower was surrounded by NCPD vehicles, lights flashing in the wet night. Officers swarmed the street below, but they looked tired—too tired to care about anything that didn't directly bite them.
Sasha's attack had been loud… but technically "minor."
Security bots destroyed. No civilian deaths.
From Biotechnica's view, it was a thief being bold. Annoying. Offensive. But not a disaster.
Still—corporate theft was corporate warfare. And if the person who hired Sasha couldn't bury the story, she'd have to disappear for a while.
Her face was exposed. That was dangerous.
And the data she uploaded?
Biotechnica's PR team likely caught it the moment it hit the air.
Worst part?
She'd chosen the wrong outlet.
The radio station she uploaded to had Biotechnica money behind it. She hadn't just tried to expose them—she'd tossed her evidence into their own trash bin.
Even if she'd picked another station, the outcome probably wouldn't change much. The only difference would be how much Biotechnica had to pay to silence it.
Sasha was skilled. Seasoned.
But deep down… she still had a small piece of innocence left.
It nearly killed her.
---
Home
James reached his apartment building. The camera scanned him and unlocked the door.
He stepped into the elevator. The ride up felt too slow.
When he opened his apartment door, a cool body slammed into him.
Lucy.
"I haven't even showered—" James started.
Then he froze.
Lucy's nose wrinkled slightly, catching something on him that shouldn't have been there.
He didn't even think she had enhanced smell implants.
Maybe she didn't.
Maybe it was just the legendary instinct that came free with being human.
Lucy looked up, eyes shining but sharp.
"I'm giving you one chance to explain."
"It's like this," James said carefully. "I rescued a cat that fell off a building…"
He told her everything.
He didn't dare hide it. Lucy's heart was too sensitive—lies would rot their relationship from the inside.
Lucy listened. Her expression barely changed, but James could feel the small sting of jealousy underneath her calm.
Hero saves girl.
Girl bonds with hero.
Lucy understood that story too well.
She'd lived it.
But Lucy didn't start a fight.
Not here. Not in Night City.
Because every hour with someone you loved was borrowed time.
She grabbed James by the wrist and dragged him toward the bathroom.
If you wanted a man to stop thinking about other women, there was a classic solution:
Drain him dry.
It was a solid strategy.
Unfortunately…
Lucy overestimated herself.
---
V Returns
Later, James got a message from Jackie.
V was back in Night City.
And he agreed to meet.
Location: Lizzie's Bar.
Jackie was a regular there, knew the staff, knew the girls, knew the flow.
Before the time, James and Lucy arrived early.
At the door, James nodded to Rita, the bouncer.
"Good evening, Rita."
"Good evening my ass," Rita snapped. "Just got rid of a few idiots."
Then she noticed Lucy at his side and grinned like she'd been waiting for this moment.
"So you've got a woman. Kitty's gonna cry when she hears."
James clenched his fists.
"Don't start."
Rita clicked her tongue, disappointed Lucy didn't react, then stepped aside.
"Welcome to Lizzie's."
Inside, Lucy finally asked, "Who's Kitty?"
"A brave idiot," James said. "I'll explain later."
They reached their reserved private room.
Jackie was already there, drinking. He hadn't called for a dancer—but he did have a holographic hot-dance projection running.
The moment he saw Lucy, he panicked and shut it off.
"Lucy—please don't tell Misty," Jackie begged. "I was bored waiting."
Before Lucy could answer, James gasped dramatically like a man betrayed.
"I can't believe you're this kind of person! I'm telling Misty right now!"
"N-no—James!"
"Hm?" James leaned in. "What do you call me?"
Jackie swallowed hard.
"Big Brother."
James smiled in victory.
"Good boy. Big Brother will pretend he didn't see anything."
He ruffled Jackie's short hair and dropped onto the sofa. Lucy naturally leaned into his arms, like she belonged there.
Jackie cleared his throat and got serious.
"V will be here soon."
Right on cue, the door opened.
A man in a suit stepped in—clean, precise, corporate.
It was V.
"Am I late?" V asked.
"Perfect timing," Jackie said, standing and pulling him into a hug.
Even after years apart, their bond was obvious. That kind of friendship didn't die easily.
Jackie turned to V, voice steady.
"This is James. We haven't known each other long, but I trust him. Same way I trust you."
Those words carried weight.
V's eyes shifted slightly as he studied James.
"Hello, V," James said.
"Hello, James," V replied.
Short. Efficient.
Corporate habits.
V had neat hair and minimal cyberware visible—but what he had was high-end, polished Arasaka-grade hardware. The kind a regular street merc could never afford.
If someone like Jenkins valued him, it meant V was dangerous in the quiet way.
James didn't waste time.
"Let's cut to it, V. I need your help."
V's hand paused on his glass.
He set it down.
"Investigate your father's death?"
James didn't flinch. "Yes."
V wasn't stupid. He'd obviously done background checks already. It would be weird if he hadn't.
"If this is a favor between friends," V said, "I can help out of respect for Jackie."
"This isn't just a favor," James said, eyes steady. "It's cooperation."
Then James leaned forward slightly, voice low and sharp.
"To stand inside Arasaka, you need street power. Jenkins can't protect you. We can."
V fell silent.
He had been happy about the promotion—until he returned and saw the battlefield he'd stepped into.
Jenkins was losing hard against Abernathy. And Jenkins had brought V back because he needed someone to turn the tide.
If V failed?
Dismissal would be mercy.
If he succeeded?
He'd make enemies powerful enough to erase him.
V finally spoke.
"Militech has a new Sandevistan prototype," he said slowly. "They're shipping it to Night City for test deployment."
James didn't blink. "What do you want?"
"I want you," V said, meeting his gaze, "to help me get it."
James lifted his glass.
"No problem."
V raised his too.
They clinked glasses.
And the deal was made.
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